


Hideaway

by artist_artists



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artist_artists/pseuds/artist_artists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kurt’s phone call, Blaine finds himself drawn to an old hideaway of his. Very Blaine-centric ficlet with spoilers through 4x08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hideaway

The Anderson house, as any of Blaine’s friends can attest to, is extremely well-kept. Every surface spotless, every object in its place. It’s not the fanciest house in the world, or even in the neighborhood, but the shiny hardwood floors and simple, classy décor make it seem glamorous to outsiders.

To Blaine, it mostly just feels like a museum.

Despite the almost obsessive tidiness of the main levels of the house, the basement could probably be classified as a disaster area. His mom, for all her love of order, also has a sentimental streak, and finds it hard to throw anything that holds some meaning to her away. When Blaine was younger, the basement was cluttered, but it was a sort of organized chaos. As the years, passed, though, the piles of junk grew higher and wider. By now, it’s a joke between Blaine and his dad - “throw it into the basement” has become synonymous with “throw it into the trash.” Anything they need to get out of the way or can’t find a proper place for upstairs is tossed into the basement, and it usually never resurfaces.

The clutter embarrasses his mother, and every summer, she talks about taking a weekend, all three of them, to sort through the mess. It never happens. Blaine doesn’t want it to. He _loves_ the basement, so full of silly odds and ends, little treasures that no one in the family really has any use for.

He’d spent a lot of time down there as a kid, when it was slightly safer to navigate through the more orderly piles of junk, pulling out old toys that had belonged to Cooper, trying on clothes and shoes that didn’t seem to have ever been worn. There was a giant box marked with the name of his great grandmother full of creepy porcelain dolls. Blaine had spent hours with those dead-eyed friends, giving them made-up superhero names and pretending that they telepathically gave him the answers to his math homework.

His favorite part of the basement was always the far left corner, where the light hardly reached. It’s difficult to get back there these days, maneuvering past wobbling stacks of boxes, old exercise equipment, and piles of Christmas decorations they haven’t used in years. There’s an old armchair back there, made in the 60s or 70s, Blaine guessed, based on the odd brown and orange striped pattern. It had belonged to his grandfather on his dad’s side, and Blaine could still remember it sitting in his grandparents house, not matching anything else in their living room. It was Grandpa’s chair, and no one else was allowed to sit in it, not even Cooper, but Grandpa always pulled Blaine up onto his lap. It made Blaine feel like the most special boy in the world.

“It’s just because you’re the baby,” Cooper would say, already annoying and self-important at 15. “Just wait ‘til Aunt Melissa starts having kids.”

Blaine grew to dread the day that Aunt Melissa had kids, but it was all for naught. His grandfather died before she could, and when Blaine found out that his grandmother was going to get rid of the chair, calling it ‘hideous’ and ‘broken’ and a lot of other horrible things, he insisted his parents keep it. Down to the basement it went, and it hasn’t been touched since by anyone but Blaine.

He’d only been six years old when his grandfather died, and the event itself hadn’t disturbed him all that much. His grandfather was old, and old people died. He was a big boy, he knew that. He cried upon hearing the news, but that was okay, because even Cooper cried, and he was in high school. Blaine had always favored his grandfather out of all of his other extended family, though, and the loss was palpable. The chair in the basement became Blaine’s hideaway, the place he escaped to when he was sad or lonely or scared and wished he could be back in his grandfather’s lap. It still smelled like his grandparents old house, and Blaine never got to smell that at all anymore once Grandma moved to Minnesota to live with Aunt Melissa’s family. It was different, sitting in the chair without his grandfather to steady him. Blaine sank into the cushion, so far that his feet didn’t touch the ground, and he felt safe.

It’s been a few years since he’s sat in the chair, but since Kurt left for New York, it’s been on his mind a lot. He finally gives into temptation on Thanksgiving night and heads down the stairs, past all of the memories that don’t fit into the Andersons’ tidy upstairs life. After Kurt’s phone call, a tense family meal, and the disaster at Sectionals, Blaine’s feeling more emotional than he has in years, which is saying a lot, considering the hell he’s been through the past few months.

He pulls the dust-covered plastic off of the chair and sinks down into the cushion, breathing in the faint scent of his grandparents’ old house. Blaine can’t even describe the smell very well - there’s a mustiness to it, a hint of potpourri, and maybe some sort of spice? He doubts anyone else in the world would describe it as pleasant. Kurt certainly wouldn’t. He’s never seen the chair, doesn’t know it exists, not yet, but Blaine can picture him scrunching up his face in disgust at the horrid design, letting out an exaggerated cough because of the dust.

Kurt would let him keep it, though, of that Blaine was 100% sure. When they moved in together, _if_ they moved in together, and had room, Kurt wouldn’t make Blaine leave this chair at his parents’ house or throw it away. Kurt wouldn’t want it in the living room, of course, but Blaine wouldn’t want it there, either, on display for any stranger who walks in.

He leans back in the chair, closes his eyes, and imagines the armrests he’s gripping are his grandfather’s arms. Blaine had been so young, his grandfather had hardly known him, really, but he thinks that they’d be close, still, had he lived. Blaine thinks he would have liked Kurt.

The thought brings the memory of Kurt’s phone crashing back to the forefront of his mind. Kurt had _called_ him today, told Blaine he was his best friend, that he still loved him, that he wanted to see him at Christmas. It was more than Blaine could have asked for, and he’s giddy, if emotionally exhausted, just recalling it. He’d spent the last week and a half trying to deal with the idea of never being anything to Kurt again. Blaine has nothing but the promise of a conversation at Christmas, but it’s enough for right now. It’s _hope_.

He thinks he’d like to bring Kurt down here after they talk, if everything goes well. Blaine would have to clear a path and wait until his mother left the house so she wouldn’t worry about a guest seeing the mess, but it would be worth it. He’s ready to show Kurt his hideaway.

He only lets himself linger in the basement for a few more minutes before draping the plastic back over the chair and working his way back through the basement toward the stairs. It’s getting late, but they still have guests lingering from dinner, and Blaine knows he’ll be expected upstairs soon to say goodbye. When he reaches the top of the stairs, he can hear the loud conversation in the living room. Bracing himself for a few more minutes of small talk with friends of his parents that he barely knows, Blaine gives the chair in the dim corner of the basement one last look before turning off the light.


End file.
